


dearest clara

by belleandthebeast



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F, I wrote this literally in 2015 don't judge the plot bunnies and historical inaccuracies, bisexual clara oswald, regency england, she's gay af, theres a les mis mention in there too for all u musical fans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 06:56:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10634625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belleandthebeast/pseuds/belleandthebeast
Summary: "Jane Austen. Amazing writer. Brilliant comic observer. And, strictly among ourselves, a phenomenal kisser."





	

**Author's Note:**

> first published on my wattpad in october 2015. i still miss clara with all my heart.

This was always Clara's favourite lesson: Jane Austen. Clara had always loved Austen's books, cherishing them dearly as a teen and even now. Time and time again she would visit the sentences that had been crafted, the words Jane had once thought over in her brilliant mind. She couldn't get enough of her.

"Amazing writer," she told her class excitedly. "Brilliant comic observer. And, strictly among ourselves, a phenomenal kisser." Clara wasn't too sure if she'd said that last part out loud, but she could remember as clear as day the time that she had stumbled across the writer. And it would be an evening she would never likely forget.

-

"Are you sure this is 50th Century France?" Clara asked, sticking her head round the TARDIS door.

"Yes! We're at the theatre for the 3000th anniversary production of Les Misérables! I told you about a million times that's where I was taking you today."

Clara frowned, looking at the Doctor in doubt. Her hair was tied back into a small ponytail, loose strands of hair framing her face, and her ever present leather jacket hung over her shoulders.

"Doctor, I don't think this is the 50th century," she paused, looking over her shoulder outside the door. "Or France."

Burrowing his eyebrows, the Doctor strode over to the door, taking a quick look outside before facing Clara (who was frowning – still).

"Ah! Yes, I think you're right!" he finally exclaimed in his thick, Scottish accent. "Just a moment and we'll be right there-"

"Hold on, I want to have a look!"

And before the Doctor knew it, Clara had ran off into the world outside, completely unknowing of what she would bump into.

(Bloody humans.)

Putting in some co-ordinates for London, 2015, the Doctor decided he'd grab some coffee for when he picked Clara back up. He hated the stuff, but knew Clara loved it – and he did adore his best friend.

Little did Clara realise that, rather than France, the TARDIS had landed them in Bath, England, in 1802. Evening dawned upon the town, a pink and sunshine coloured sunset hanging high in the sky, casting colours on the bricks of buildings like oil pastels. And next to the TARDIS was a small dance hall, only one story high, the size of an old village hall. From inside, Clara could hear the gentle rhythm of music and a quiet rumble of people talking. Feeling rather curious, she decided to step inside.

Immediately, Clara felt out of place in her collared dress and jacket – everybody was dressed in regency clothing; long, flowing dresses and perfectly pinned hair. She realised she must have looked quite odd, and very, very inappropriately dressed, but it was too late to go back to the TARDIS and change now. Instead, she ignored the few cautious looks she received and lingered towards the back of the room. She couldn't help but smile, looking at the gleeful faces and cheerful dancers.

One girl – woman – of around Clara's age danced happily, a broad grin on her face and wisps of dark hair bouncing as she twirled and moved about with a man she had earlier agreed to marry. Clara recognised her from somewhere. She couldn't figure out where, considering she was in Regency Era Bath and knew nobody at all.

And then she realised, wondering how on Earth she didn't recognise the woman the moment she laid eyes on her! It was Jane! Jane Austen, Clara's favourite writer and first teenage crush (preceding Marcus Aurelius), and she was right here, right in front of Clara! She couldn't believe it! Jane Austen was in the same room as her, merrily dancing away, with not a care in the world.

She was also looking straight at Clara.

Who had been staring.

"Please excuse me for a moment," Clara overheard Jane say to her dance partner, eyes steadily on at Clara as she spoke.

Clara held Jane's gaze as the writer walked over, feeling the butterflies in her stomach churning in anticipation.

"Good evening, Miss..."

"Oswald. Clara Oswald," she spoke confidently. "Good evening-"

"Jane. Call me Jane."

"It's a pleasure to meet you Jane," Clara smiled.

Jane glanced over Clara's unusual attire, head cocked to the side in interest as she surveyed Clara's wide eyes and soft rosy cheeks.

"The pleasure is all mine," Jane responded, placing a hand on Clara's arm. "Perhaps you'd like to sit outside? The sunset is quite lovely to watch, and the music is getting to my head a little."

Quickly linking her arm with Clara's, Jane led Clara through the door of the hall and to a bench just outside. The two sat in silence, looking up at the patterns that formed in the sky, before Jane broke the emptiness, turning to face Clara.

"You seem weary, traveller. You're a long way from home." Clara's eyes widened in worry – she couldn't disrupt history, she simply couldn't! Jane knowing about the future... Well, it could change literary history.

Sensing Clara's concern, Jane picked up Clara's clasped hands and held it between her own, looking at her reassuringly. "I can see it in your eyes. You've seen wonders that I could only dream of. Lost people you loved. Lived a thousand lives. You hold the universe in your wake. I can feel it when I hold your hands in mine."

Clara could only nod slowly.

The universe was her home – every time, every place ever touched by the Doctor, she had lived a life there. Every planet she'd set foot on, every piece of history she'd ever made her mark on, she had left a track behind her, picking up pieces of galaxies as she travelled. She had star dust on her skin, supernovas in her eyes. Clara could not imagine a life without the universe she had helped the Doctor to paint. It was remarkable.

And here she was, sat in Bath with Jane Austen, who could see right through her.

Jane still held Clara's hands as they looked at each other.

"Dearest Clara, would you mind terribly if I were to kiss you?"

Clara's eyes darted to Jane's pink lips, before looking at her once more, leaning closer and closer to her, until their noses touched.

"Not at all," she whispered, before closing her eyes and feeling Jane's lips on her own.

They were careful kisses, soft and inquisitive as the writer devoured her new muse and the traveller explored her next conquest. Jane's hands tugged at Clara's ponytail whilst Clara held Jane's face to her own with both hands. Clara had to stop herself from giggling into the kiss as Jane stifled a hiccup, which resulted in both of them falling apart, laughing.

"Shh," Clara laughed, before leaning in to kiss her once more. But before Clara could press more tender kisses on Jane's lips, she heard the distinctive sound of the TARDIS materialising in front of her.

"Whatever is that?" Jane remarked, a hand still slung round Clara's neck.

"My spaceship," Clara grinned, "but it doesn't matter. Kiss me."

So Jane did.


End file.
